My Little Box
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Unofficial sequel to xSadistxFujix's "Caught Before the Act". Sitting alone in his jail cell in between the courtroom sessions of his ongoing trial, Andre Kriegman has been separated from Calvin Gabriel. This isolation is more than Andre can stand, but he knows he doesn't have long. A choice needs to be made.


**My Little Box**

* * *

**Now you're in my world,**

**Did you dream it'd be so small?**

**My little box was perfect,**

**Till you destroyed it all…**

**-Gabriel Mann, "My Little Box"**

* * *

Andre lay down and stretched out on his bed, the only thing that was padded anywhere in his cell. It was an old, squeaky mattress that the guards came and flipped daily, pulling off the sheets and making darned sure that Adams County Jail inmate Andre Kriegman wasn't hiding any weapons or further plans for mass death and destruction. It annoyed Andre every time they invaded his privacy that way, and he knew it showed. They could see the anger in the dark-haired teen's brown eyes, and it seemed like every one of this big, muscular jarhead cops was just itching to reach for his nightstick. Or his gun.

It was funny, really. Andre knew the officers were trying hard to hide it, and that most of them probably believed they were doing a good job of it. But the teen knew.

These men were _afraid_ of him.

Well, _everybody _was, really. It seemed like the whole damn world had gone crazy since that day, back in April of 2001. Somebody had snitched; somebody had heard what Andre and Cal had been planning, their final, big-ass mission called "Zero Day". It was to be the wake-up call the nation needed, a message the world would never forget. Instead some cunt, some piece of shit little kid, overheard Andre and Cal at some point, and the shit hit the fan. Cops arrested the two teens right in the school cafeteria, and within a day it was all over the news.

The anger and shame Andre felt at getting caught, at letting down his best friend Cal by not protecting him, burned at him for every day that followed. By now it had been almost a year- these trials took a long goddamn time, and it had been a bitch and a half to make any progress convincing the jail staff Andre wasn't a suicide case. They'd taken him off suicide watch a couple months back, and given him bedsheets. That was all Andre needed. He knew just how to tie the knot around the cell bars, once the guard halted his patrol of the hallway to take a coffee or smoke break. But that was for later. Andre needed to do something else first.

Andre was never going to see Cal again. He knew that. It broke his heart, and more than once the black-haired teen had quietly sobbed himself to sleep out of pure grief. He felt utterly alone, completely deserted and for the first time truly without any friends. Andre wanted to die, but he knew he had to give one last show of strength first. He had to show that he, Andre Kriegman, had been in control of his life, even now. Even here, at the very end.

The media had been given a field day by the revelation of the Zero Day plan. The Gabriel and Kriegman houses were ruthlessly searched, and in the end the cops found everything, much to the shock and humiliation of Cal and Andre's families. It made Andre furious even now, to think that they had dared embarrass his family in that way. But it wasn't like Andre wanted to talk to them himself. The only person he wanted to see was Cal, and they wouldn't let that happen. Not even in the courtroom, where the boys sat far away from each other and guards watched their every move, making anything but the most subtle eye contact and hand signals impossible.

When Andre's parents had come to see him, Andre had thrown up cold indifference like a stone wall. His insides were turmoil, the very definition of total pandemonium. He didn't know what the hell to do, or to think. Part of Andre actually wanted to apologize to his parents, shocked and hurt beyond anything they could have ever imagined. But when they came to see him, Andre had stonewalled them both like a pro. He had stared down at the table where he was sitting, wearing his tan, two-piece jail uniform and a blank expression on his face. First he met his mother with stony-faced silence, then his father. When they finally got permission from the guards to go in and speak to their son together, Andre finally looked at them and spoke for the only time in their visit.

Andre had looked up at his parents and said quietly, "Lass mich allein". He didn't speak again however much his parents talked to him, and finally the Kriegman elders got up and left, even more confused and saddened than they'd been before. It hurt Andre badly to do that to them- for whatever it was worth, he truly did love his parents- but he knew it was necessary. Andre's parents wanted their son back, but the would-be teenage murderer- they were calling him that on the news every day now- knew better. Andre knew things had changed permanently, and that he would never be able to go home again. Conspiracy to commit murder- he and Cal were up for that charge beyond a doubt. And they would be found guilty beyond a doubt. And their lives would be ruined. Beyond a doubt.

So Andre had cut himself off from his parents the one time they'd visited, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. He'd written them a couple letters, though, saying he just needed some space and some time. Mom and Dad wrote back, and they were sympathetic and understanding. Andre mostly wrote the letters so they wouldn't come by again. The world's hate and revulsion he could take easily; Andre thought nothing less of those fuckers anyway. But love, kindness or sympathy- those things would drive him mad. They would unless they came from Cal Gabriel- and only through eye contact could they talk anymore. But that was good enough.

Andre's cousin Chris called once, and Andre was pleased to hear from him. And grateful that Chris would never know that Andre and Cal had been planning to steal some firearms from Chris' collection for Zero Day. It was best that he never know that.

The trial had gone much as Andre expected it would. Neither of the two teens were allowed to talk to the other- the authorities didn't want Andre and Cal getting together and coordinating their defense in court, or somehow hatching and escape plan.

_It's pitiful_, Andre thought, staring up at the ceiling of his cell. _Cal and I are done. Fucked. And yet these people are _still_ afraid of us_.

Andre could barely conceal his contempt for these morons who had lived to see him brought low. Brad Huff, that arrogant prick, was probably laughing his ass off at home right now.

_Ah, well_, Andre thought after a moment of bitter anger, _At least we egged his house_.

It made Andre smile. Anything that involved him and Cal did. Every story in Andre Kriegman's life- well, every story worth telling- began with the words, "Cal and I".

Tucked away in the pillowcase on Andre's bed were two letters. A third was yet to be written. The morons running the jail had finally lent Andre a dull pencil, and Andre enjoyed the shit out of asking a passing guard to sharpen the damn thing for him. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't. The pencil and paper had been provided after two months in jail, once the guards decided Andre could be trusted with basic office supplies. Ha ha.

Now, sitting in the dim light of his cell as the hours stretched late into the night, Andre got up and sat down at the stool they had bolted to the floor. It was placed in front of a basic metal desk, which was bolted to the wall. Obviously they didn't want Andre stealing anything.

_Time to get serious_, Andre told himself, setting a blank piece of paper in front of him. He picked up the pencil and began to write.

_I'm sorry. Not because I'm in here, or because of the people who think I should be. But I'm sorry nonetheless. If you want, I'll tell you what I mean. That is, if you want to hear the truth. If you'd rather have some five-second history lesson so you can go back to fucking around on Myspace, then fuck off._

_I'm scared, but I'm not scared. I'm ready for this. I can't say much to the people who've had faith in me in the past. Just that I'm grateful._

_Everybody says they're afraid to die, but I don't think that's true. I think people are afraid of how they'll die. They fear dying itself. The pain. I'm not exempt- I'm afraid of dying, too. But that's not enough to stop me now. I don't have anything to lose except my life, and I quit caring about that a long time ago._

_I'm sure that if I stuck around for the rest of the trial Cal and I would say some things to the judge or the jury, which would in turn end up in a bunch of court transcripts no one will ever read. I like to think that we've given those sons of bitches a fight worth remembering. We did it together, even if the cops saw to it we did it alone._

_I'm sure everybody will want to know our regrets. If we're sorry for what we almost did. I regret the food I'll never taste, the places I'll never see, the people I'll never meet, the things I'll never do. But do I regret what Cal and I tried to do? Do I regret planning Zero Day with him? No. I'm glad that I did, and I make no apology for it. We had our reasons, and I'd do it all again. I only regret one thing, as far as Zero Day goes- that we got caught._

_It ends like it began- in the middle of the night. With enough time, everything ends. A trial in court, even the inevitable life in prison I have waiting for me if I stick around. No thanks. I'll see you fuckers later._

_Andre Kriegman_

Andre chuckled, a low, grim sound, as he wrote those last two sentences. Here he was, with the end of his life just minutes away, and still being a wiseass, hot-tempered son of a bitch. Defiant to the end. That was Andre.

"Hey."

The dark-haired teen jerked his head up, freezing in place as he heard that small voice speak to him from across the hall. Right away, he knew that it wasn't a guard- they liked to bang on the bars with their sticks or shine a blinding flashlight into your face. Instead, peering across the silent hallway of the county "juvenile hall" facility, Andre saw a small, gangly boy of about fifteen, a dark bowl-cut still concealing most of his forehead. His green eyes, though, shone brightly in the dark, and the kid looked absolutely fascinated as he stared at Andre.

"What?" Andre whispered back, daring to answer him. He remembered this guy from the exercise yard. The guards never let any of the boys talk, but nods and eye contact could get a thing or two across. This kid was all right.

"You gonna off yourself, my man?" the boy asked, and Andre stared. The kid- Andre remembered his last name was Archer- chuckled softly, and said, "I'm just messin' with ya."

Andre shook his head and went back to the letter, folding it up and silently tucking it into his pillowcase with the others. He took a deep breath, then swiftly took the sheet off his bed, twisting it to form it into a makeshift rope. Andre froze again as he heard a small "Psst!" from across the hall.

Turning to face that skinny kid Archer again, Andre asked, "What?" rather impatiently, but Archer looked absolutely entranced now.

"You… you're really gonna _do_ it!" he whispered, positively fascinated. Archer couldn't have looked more excited. He was scared, even frightened- but fascinated. Andre could see it.

Finally, Andre shrugged. No point in lying to this kid now. Plus, Andre remembered hearing briefly what Archer had done- his mother had abandoned him and his father had been an abusive drunkard. One day, Archer had come home and taken a Winchester rifle from his father's gun cabinet. Five .30-30 bullets and a lot of blood later, Archer was a free boy. His father didn't hit him anymore.

_A fellow killer_, Andre thought in wry amusement_. Except I didn't kill anybody_.

Almost.

There were three letters in that pillowcase. One was addressed to Andre's family, one to Cal Gabriel, though Andre knew the pigs would never let his best friend read it. A third- the last one- was entitled, "To Whom It May Concern".

Suddenly, Andre thought of that letter to Cal. And Archer.

Creeping up to the bars, Andre glanced to either end of the hallway. The guard had gone on his coffee break. Just like he always did late at night- it was 1:30AM, so the clock at the far end of the hall said. For the moment Andre had some time. For the moment.

"Uh," Andre began uncertainly, "Yeah. You heard about me?"

"And Cal Gabriel," Archer whispered back. He grinned impishly. "_Zero_ Day, man. Whoo! You guys got balls of steel, man."

"You really shoot your dad?" Andre asked pointedly, and Archer's face darkened. "Yeah," he said in a low, deadly voice. "I did."

A silence fell between the two boys, and for a while they just sat their near the bars of their cells, not sure what to say. Finally, Andre looked at Archer. "Hey."

"What?" Archer said, in perfect imitation of a tired, irritable Andre. The dark-haired teen was starting to like this kid. He might've made a great third partner for Zero Day.

"Can you get a letter to my friend?"

Archer stared at Andre, the younger boy's eyes twinkling in the dark of his cell. "You're really gonna do it," he breathed. Third time he'd said that.

"Yeah, no shit," Andre whispered. "It's this or a life in prison."

"I may be here a while," the kid Archer said reflectively. "They can't seem to figure what to do with me."

They knew what they wanted to do with Andre, all right. And Cal. Plenty were screaming for the teens' heads, but you didn't get the death penalty for conspiracy to commit. All that got you was a lifetime in the Big House.

_Fuck that_.

"Well, can you get a letter to Cal?" Andre hissed, his heart pounding as he kept casting glances up and down the hall. Keep this up too long and they were sure to get caught.

"If… you let me watch," Archer whispered, his green eyes almost glowing. "I-I just wanna see. When I killed my dad, he was turned around."

"You fuckin' psycho," Andre chuckled softly, and the two boys laughed together for just a few moments, covering their mouths with a hand to stifle the sound.

Finally, Andre got up and went to the pillowcase, withdrawing the one letter. The one for Cal. His best friend. His only friend.

And Archer. Ha ha.

Returning to the front of his cell, Andre folded the letter into a small paper airplane, swift and narrow like a dart. If he aimed it right- just right- it would land right in Archer's cell, going right between the bars.

One.

Two.

Three!

Andre silently tossed the paper airplane, and…. It didn't make it. The airplane fell just short of Archer's cell, landing on that side of the hallway. Andre's heart sank, but Archer just snuck a small arm out and snatched it. He held it up to Andre, safely inside his cell, and the older, dark-haired boy wanted to cheer.

"Thanks, man," Andre whispered, truly grateful. "You'll get it to Cal?"

"Yeah," Archer whispered back.

"How?" Andre knew he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but he had to ask.

But Archer just grinned like that demonic little imp he was. "I'll get it to him," Archer said softly. "Don't worry."

Andre stared across the hall for perhaps a full minute, locking eyes with the other boy. He barely knew him- this was the first time they'd even spoken- and yet he felt like he'd known Archer for years.

"Thanks, man," Andre said, close to tears. Archer just shrugged, looking away and blinking. Finally, Andre got up and took his bedsheets in hand. It was time.

Twisting the sheets to form a makeshift rope again, Andre worked quickly, standing atop his stool to tie a knot around a heating pipe running through his cell. It was a stretch to even get the sheets across it- the pigs had probably figured no teenage criminal would ever be able to reach up there to hang himself- but Andre managed it. He was a tall, strong boy.

He just hoped he'd be strong enough.

"Good luck," Archer said in a low whisper as Andre slipped his neck through the noose. He looked like he couldn't have taken his eyes of Andre- not even if he'd wanted to.

"Likewise," Andre whispered back, nodding respectfully. He paused briefly, adrenaline racing in his veins and his heart thudding fearfully in his chest.

Then he stepped off.

The choke on his breathing was immediate, the grip tight- Andre had done a good job with the knot. Archer gripped the bars of his cell until his knuckles turned white, and Andre found himself truly wishing the best for this murderous kid. He'd been given a shitty lot in life- an abusive, alcoholic jerk of a father- and sent that hate and that pain right back where it came from. Just as Andre and Cal had done- or rather, tried to do. It made no sense that people loved to say shit like "Life isn't fair" and then so harshly punished kids like Cal, Andre and Archer when they decided to do something about it. Andre just didn't understand it.

Panic impulses hit Andre as he dangled from the makeshift noose, and his feet kicked at thin air as his hands grabbed at the cloth around his neck. God, did this hurt. It hurt so fuckin' _bad_.

_I took the trash out_! Andre thought furiously, his vision filled with black dots and stars_._ I_ did_! _And I'd do it ALL AGAIN_!

But the indignant, defiant anger began to fade as Andre's oxygen did, and after two minutes he was close to gone. His last conscious thought was something much more calm, far more profound. Andre wished- perhaps even sensed- that Cal was asleep in his own cell now, elsewhere in the building, and might know what Andre's last words to him would have been. Even if Archer didn't- or couldn't- get Cal the letter, he'd know the last line in the letter to him. After all, the words were almost word-for-word lifted from a conversation Cal and Andre had once had.

And somehow… _some_how, Andre was equally sure that Cal would be all right. He'd get out of here somehow, or off himself on his own when the time was right. But Cal would be just fine. Andre just _knew_.

_If this thing goes south and we both end up on the other side, meet me at the bar. I'm buying_.

_But we're not 21, Andre_, the teen could almost hear his friend saying. Naturally, the blond would have a slight smile on his face.

But Andre had anticipated that, and made that the last line in his letter to Calvin Gabriel: _Don't worry. I doubt they care what age you are as long as they serve beer in Hell_.

* * *

**Notes:**

**This story was inspired by- and is an unofficial sequel to- xSadistxFujix's 'Zero Day' fanfiction "Caught Before the Act", in which Andre Kriegman and Cal Gabriel are caught and arrested before they can carry out Zero Day. Since they would certainly be convicted for conspiracy to commit murder- that much at least- I expect no story could be written as a follow-up to "Caught Before the Act" other than one showing Andre and/or Cal committing suicide in prison. Grim, but that's how it would be for those two. Their lives would be absolutely ruined if they got caught. Zero Day would be out of reach, along with pretty much anything else.**

**Andre's final letter is based off the third suicide note written by Anthony Barbaro, perpetrator of the Olean High School Shooting in 1974. Like Anthony, Andre is caught- though this time before he can kill anyone- and is faced with a life in prison. And like Anthony, Andre chooses another way out. Unlike Anthony, however, Andre expresses no real regret in his letter. He's just sorry he got caught.**

**Also, that line to Cal about "If this whole thing goes south" is based off a line by Garrus Vakarian in the Xbox 360 game "Mass Effect 3". Just thought I'd mention that, too.**


End file.
